


The Confession

by springhorton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Reunion, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springhorton/pseuds/springhorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock Holmes is injured while working a case, his doctor and the hospital shrink fear that he is holding something back about his attack. Could he have been raped? John doesn't even want to think about it, but the idea brings up the fact that Sherlock does seem to have some weird hang-ups about sex. When John finally coaxes the story out of Sherlock, the answers are not what he was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confession

John frantically dialed Sherlock's number again. "Damn it!" he yelled when he got no answer. He slipped the mobile into his pocket and continued running down the alley. It was dark and he was in real danger of getting lost in the maze of London's back alleys.

Twenty minutes earlier he'd received a text from Sherlock that simply read, "Trouble" followed by a map reference. The buildings where he was were mostly run down flats and a few closed up businesses. John had made an educated guess and decided to search the alleys. He'd had no luck finding Sherlock though and was beginning to panic. He knew he probably shouldn't, not knowing the circumstances, but he couldn't help it any longer; he started calling Sherlock's name.

A few streets away was an alley, much better lit than the rest of the area. It's warm glow beckoned to a small back door hidden away from the world. A teenage girl opened the door, stepped out into the alley and screamed.

Inside was a, not exactly legal, homeless shelter. It was just a set of back rooms in an unused office building where the girl, her mother and grandmother helped who they could. They cooked and let people spend the night, all without any government funds or charitable donations. The mother had heard her daughter scream and ran to the door.

"Jess, what is it?" she asked.

Her daughter pointed to something lying on the ground. She stepped outside and put a hand to her mouth. It was a man, his face covered in blood. One side was a solid bruise, the eye swollen shut. She pulled herself together and knelt down beside him to check for a pulse. 

"He's alive, but barely."

Jess brushed passed her grandmother and she ran inside to phone an ambulance.

"Dear god," her grandmother breathed.

A couple of minutes later, Jess came back out to see her mother and grandmother hovering over the man. "Is he still...?"

"Yes, he's alive," her mother answered.

In the distance they heard footsteps and someone shouting. They saw a man turn the corner to their alley and shout, "Sherlock!"

John paused when he saw the three women. Slowly, he began to move toward them until he saw the man on the ground and then he ran. "Sherlock!" he yelled again.

The women backed away as John ran toward them and hit the ground beside Sherlock.

"He's alive," the mother informed him.

"I already phoned an ambulance," Jess added.

"Thank you," John answered without looking at them. He was assessing Sherlock, his medical instincts kicking in. Sherlock was unconscious with several cuts and contusions on his face. John rifled through his hair. It looked as if he'd been hit in the head with a blunt object. It wasn't bleeding very badly, but John knew the damage to his skull and brain could be more severe. He quickly unbuttoned Sherlock's coat and jacket and shoved his shirt up. Vaguely, he heard gasping behind him. The majority of Sherlock's torso was one large bruise.

"He could have internal bleeding," John thought out loud. He felt for broken ribs and thought he could identify at least two. He checked Sherlock's pulse again. It was faint, but steady. He cursed under his breath and then turned to the women.

"Where's the ambulance?" he muttered. Then he asked, "What happened?" When the women only glanced at one another he shouted, "What happened to him?" choking up on the last word.

The women started and then the mother said, "We don't know. My daughter found him like this."

"I think he's waking up," Jess said.

John whipped around to see Sherlock's eyelids fluttering.

"John," he mumbled.

"I'm right here," John answered and took his hand. "The ambulance is on its way."

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Stay with me, Sherlock!"

He nodded and fell unconscious again.

A couple of hours later, John watched with trepidation as Sherlock was wheeled into a recovery unit. A tall, middle-aged woman spotted him and made her way over. Her features were reassuring, but not completely without worry.

"Are you the one who brought him in?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. "I'm John Watson. He's my boyfriend."

"Ah, Mister Watson-"

"It's Doctor, so please just tell me how he is."

"Alright," she answered. "The truth is that it could have been much worse. He has a good deal of bruising on his liver and kidneys, but no ruptures. He also has three broken ribs. As for his eye, we won't know for sure until the swelling goes down. He does have a moderate concussion and a skull fracture, but no swelling or bleeding on the brain."

John had been holding his breath as she spoke, but now he let out a ragged sigh.

"He's not one hundred percent," the doctor added, "but he should be fine. Do you know what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. He looked like he'd been mugged."

"He was brought in without a wallet, so it could be." She hesitated a moment and then added, "We have reason to think the crime may have been of a sexual nature though."

John shook his head and took a step back like he'd been punched in the face. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, for one, he wouldn't let us do a full exam. Plus, he refuses to talk about what happened."

John thought for a moment. With Sherlock, none of that necessarily meant anything. "Did you ask him if he'd been raped?" he finally asked.

The doctor nodded. "He didn't answer. In fact, he had no reaction at all." She waited a moment and then added, "He's asleep now, but you can go in and sit with him if you like."

John nodded and thanked her and then stepped into Sherlock's room. He braced himself, knowing that Sherlock would probably look even worse than he did when John found him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He felt faint, but shook it off and walked to the bed.

Half of Sherlock's face was almost unrecognisable. The other half had scrapes and cuts. John sat down next to him and took his hand. The knuckles were bruised where Sherlock had fought his attacker. John looked him over with tears in his eyes. A light sheet was pulled up over his gown and John had to fight the urge to pull the gown up and check for signs of assault. The very thought made his blood boil.

As if able to read his thoughts, Sherlock turned his head and looked at John with the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"Sherlock," John breathed and stood up to examine him more closely.

"I said, I'm fine."

"You are not fine. You almost died out there."

Sherlock shook his head and immediately regretted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the nausea to pass.

John put a hand on his forehead and brushed his hair back. "Sherlock, what happened?" he asked, feeling like kicking himself for doing so. "I got your text."

"I was following a lead. Apparently he somehow figured out that I was on to him."

"He came after you?"

"Yes, along with some very large friends."

John hesitated, not knowing how to broach the subject. "The doctor is worried about you...I mean she thinks-"

"I know what she thinks."

John waited, but when he didn't say anything else, he prompted, "Sherlock?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Then why won't you-"

"Because I don't have anymore injuries. There's no reason to examine me any further."

John sighed, exasperated, and then smiled. "Just let them do the damned exam."

"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

"Because I'm lucky enough to still have you to argue with."

Sherlock put his head back, looking incredulous, but a hint of a smile touched his lips. He didn't say anything else so they let the matter go.

"You should go home and get some sleep," Sherlock informed him.

"Oh no. I'm not leaving you alone anywhere ever again," John teased. "I'll bunk here somewhere."

The next morning John woke early with a crick in his neck and a rumbling stomach. He checked to see if Sherlock was still asleep and then went to the cafeteria to get some coffee and something resembling breakfast. When he came back, he immediately knew that something was off. He heard shouting and walked in as Sherlock's breakfast tray sailed across the room.

"I think they meant you to eat that," he remarked.

"I've lost my appetite," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

John glanced around and saw Sherlock's doctor along with a small, mousy looking older lady in glasses.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"They've sent in the trauma therapist," Sherlock answered.

"Well, that is procedure."

"Yes, but the second she walked into the room she'd already decided what was wrong with me and wanted to talk about it."

"What seems to be the trouble, Mister Holmes?" the therapist asked quietly like she hadn't heard any of their conversation.

John looked at her like she'd just stepped on a land mine and didn't know it.

"The world's constant preoccupation with my sex life, doctor!" He threw off the sheet and started to slide out of bed.

His doctor and John both hurried over and tried to get him to lie back down. "What has gotten in to you?" John muttered.

"They're here to do a psychiatric evaluation," he informed him.

"Is that true?" John asked the doctor.

"Not at first," she answered. "The psychiatrist just came to offer him counseling, but his behavior has worried her."

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is insane."

"Don't say that, John. They can hear you," Sherlock quipped.

"This is not funny, Sherlock. I suppose you're still refusing the exam as well?"

"Would it make you feel better?" he hissed.

"I think it would make them feel better."

"Fine," Sherlock said and threw off the sheet again. He hiked up his gown and, with some effort, rolled away from them.

"Let me," John said to the doctor. She nodded and John carefully pulled down Sherlock's underwear. There was nothing, no bruising, no blood. He gently checked closer, but found no tearing or bruising anywhere. Sherlock had definitely not been raped. 

"He's fine," John announced.

"Are you satisfied now?" Sherlock asked, tugging at his pants and turning back over.

The doctor shrugged, but the shrink said, "I find your reluctance and hostility worrisome, Mr. Holmes."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. What did you mean by the 'world's preoccupation with your sex life?'"

Sherlock only glared at her like she had the intellect of a single celled organism.

John answered for him. "I think you asking that question is exactly what he meant."

"It is my job to ask these questions."

Everyone went quiet, the tension still thick in the air. After a few moments, John tried to clear the air by saying, "It has been argued that he was a virgin before we met." It didn't have the desired effect. The shrink just peered at him curiously and he found that Sherlock was now glaring at him.

Then suddenly, the words "Good god" were heard from the doorway. John looked over to see Mycroft standing there looking as faint as he had been the night before.

"Maybe we can pick this up later?" the doctor suggested.

"Oh yes, please," Sherlock said, the words dripping sarcasm.

When the doctors left, Mycroft stepped in, having regained his composure. "Sherlock," he said as a greeting.

"Mycroft," Sherlock answered.

"I see you've found trouble again," Mycroft quipped.

"And I see you've found cake again," his brother returned.

"Would you both just shut up?" John yelled, throwing up his hands. "What is wrong with the two of you?"

Mycroft and Sherlock looked him over with confused frowns.

John just shook his head and said, "I think he could use some time alone." Then he walked out the door. After a few moments of walking down the corridor, he realised that Mycroft had followed him. He stopped and turned around.

"His doctor agreed with you," Mycroft said.

"Threw you out, did she?"

Mycroft cocked his head and then said, "Mind if I join you?"

"Actually, that would be fine. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

A few minutes later, the two of them were sitting at a table in the cafeteria staring at one another over cups of coffee.

"So, what is it you wanted to know?" Mycroft asked.

John sighed, dreading the conversation. "When they brought Sherlock in, they thought that maybe he'd been...assaulted."

Mycroft's eyebrows crept up. "You mean sexually?"

"Yes."

"Well, was he?"

"No," John quickly answered. "But he was very weird about it. He didn't want to be examined, refused to talk about it."

Mycroft let out a humming chuckle. "That sounds like Sherlock, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but why? Why is he so hung up over...sex?" Suddenly, Mycroft's smile vanished and he clammed up so John added, "I mean, he wasn't really a virgin when we met was he?"

"I'm really not the one you should be talking to about this, John."

"I know, but they're talking about keeping him here for a psychiatric evaluation."

This time Mycroft's eyebrows shot up much faster. "Do they think he's a danger to himself?"

"Well, he's certainly been acting like a threat to others. I've rarely seen him this hostile."

Mycroft turned his head and looked like he was staring off into the distance. After awhile he finally said, "I'm afraid I can't help you John. You'll have to talk to him." He got up to leave and then turned back to say, "Take care of him." With that he was gone, leaving John ever more confused and curious than he had been before.

John walked back to Sherlock's room in a daze. He practically ran in to the doctor as she was walking out.

"Ah, Doctor Watson," she said.

"John, please."

"Alright, John. The psychiatrist says that she probably has no reason to hold him. She's starting to think that hostile is just his personality."

John smiled and then found himself saying something he could barely believe, "That may be true doctor, but I think something really is bothering him."

The doctor cocked her head and frowned. "Do you think our questions brought up memories of past trauma?"

John rubbed his brow. "I don't know, but I'm afraid it could be something like that."

"Well, you're his partner. I'm assuming the two of you have sex."

He blushed and said, "Yes. So?"

"So, he's never told you about his past sexual experiences?"

"That's just it," he answered, feeling frustrated. "He really hasn't."

Sherlock's doctor thought for a moment and then said, "It does make me think that his past sexual encounters may have been traumatic. Unless, of course, like you joked, he hadn't had any before he met you. I think you should try and talk to him about it, John."

"It might explain a few things."

The doctor nodded and patted him on the shoulder. Then she said, "Try and work it out. The psychiatrist might feel like letting him go now, but she could change her mind if he has any more violent episodes."

John went home to shower and change, but mostly to think and let Sherlock rest. He went back in the evening to find Sherlock asleep in his darkened room. He sat down beside the bed and put his head on Sherlock's hand.

"Couldn't sleep?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John sat up and said, "It's a bit early actually."

Sherlock just nodded and closed his eyes. John watched his chest gently rise and fall, the soft flutter of his eyelids as Sherlock thought. After a few moments of peace, he knew he'd have to break the spell.

"Sherlock," he started hesitantly. "I need you to talk to me, please." When Sherlock didn't move, he added, "I don't want you to end up having to stay here. Please tell me what upset you so much."

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

John waited for a moment and then let out a sigh. He didn't know what to ask or how to ask it properly so he just blundered through. "Did someone...hurt you? A long time ago, I mean."

"Are you asking if I was sexually assaulted, John?"

"Yes."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, a frown crossing his face. "It was nothing like that."

John breathed a sigh of relief. "But you weren't a virgin when we met?"

"No, but there was only one other."

"Then why won't you talk about it?"

Sherlock was quiet again, but this time his eyes began filling with tears.

"Sherlock?"

"I can't," Sherlock choked.

"Jesus," John muttered and quickly scrambled on to the bed next to him. "No one forced you?" he asked again. "Because it seems-"

Sherlock shook his head and John added, "Ok, what happened? Who was it?"

Sherlock took a calming breath and stared in to John's eyes, wondering what he would think of him now. Then he swallowed hard and whispered, "Mycroft."

John's brain reeled, refusing to believe that he'd heard Sherlock correctly. "Mycroft?" he repeated in disbelief.

Sherlock frowned and turned his head away.

"No, Sherlock, please tell me what happened."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," John said emphatically. 

Sherlock turned his head back to the ceiling and collected his thoughts. "I was seventeen and Mycroft was home celebrating his graduation from University. I was a late bloomer. I hadn't really thought much about sex. I wasn't even shaving." He took a deep breath as John waited patiently for him to go on. "We had a bit to drink and when the party was over, had some more in his room. We stayed up half the night, got quite drunk and fell asleep."

"Mycroft was the only person I'd ever been close to. I woke up realising that I had no one now. Even when he was at school he came home most weekends, but now he was starting some job that would keep him away. I had no experience and I knew I was unlikely to get any. And I was young enough to think that was important."

John nodded and said, "So, when you woke up..."

"Mycroft was still asleep and I saw that he had a reflex erection. I was curious."

"And Mycroft woke up..."

"With his cock in my hand..."

Sherlock sat up feeling a bit nauseous and light headed. He'd never had that much to drink before and wasn't sure he cared for its numbing effects. He glanced over at Mycroft's sleeping form and noticed a bulge in his trousers.

A jittery curiosity came over him, filling his stomach with butterflies. He knew that some other boys his age had already had sex. He'd never really been interested. He'd never even masturbated. He suddenly felt like he was missing out, like there was something wrong with him.

He scooted closer to his brother and then looked to make sure he was still sleeping soundly. Then he carefully unzipped Mycroft's trousers and tugged at his pants. Mycroft's half erect cock slipped out, dangling in the air. Sherlock gasped and stared at it, fascinated. He gently touched it, feeling the warm, pulsating shaft and then wrapped his long, slender fingers around it. He rubbed a little, not sure he was doing it right, but then Mycroft's erection began to grow and harden.

Sherlock quickly began to pump harder and, for the first time in his life, felt the excitement building in his own body. He felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach and his own cock begin to strain.

Suddenly, Mycroft let out a groan and sat up, bleary eyed. He rubbed his eyes and saw Sherlock frozen with a look of terror on his face. His own eyes widened as he realised what was going on.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, trying to clear his head from the fog of drink.

"I...I was just...curious," Sherlock pleaded.

"About what?" When Sherlock didn't answer, Mycroft shook his head and said, "You mean you've never done it before? Not even to yourself?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I never really wanted to, never felt anything. I thought there was something wrong with me."

"How did it make you feel just now?"

Sherlock blushed and turned away.

"It's alright, Sherlock. It's natural to get excited about these things."

"Will you show me, Mycroft? Will you show me what it's like?"

"Sherlock, I don't know if that's-"

"I don't have anyone else! There's no one else I care about." 

Tears started to leak out of Sherlock's eyes, the one thing Mycroft had never been able to stand. He grabbed Sherlock and hugged him. "Shh," he whispered, stroking Sherlock's curls. "Alright. It'll be alright." Then he pushed him back and brushed the tears from his face. He finished taking off his clothes as Sherlock watched and then he slowly slipped the clothes from his brother's lanky frame.

"You're too skinny, Sherlock. You need to eat more."

Sherlock glanced down at himself and frowned. Mycroft was right, he was skinny and pale.

Mycroft sensed that he had made a mistake, become like their father. "It's fine, Sherlock," he quickly said. "Look at me, too fat. Maybe there's nothing wrong with either of us."

Sherlock smiled, a little frightened. "Will it hurt?"

"I promise I'll be gentle," Mycroft answered and leaned over to slip Sherlock's cock into his mouth.

An explosion of sensations went through Sherlock's body. He felt warm blood rushing to his groin and the nerves there set on fire. His breath caught in his throat and he threw his head back. After a few minutes of maybe an eternity, he couldn't tell which, Mycroft came up for air and caressed his cheek.

"Turn over," he said and Sherlock got onto his stomach.

He crossed his arms and rested his head on them, not sure what to expect. After a moment, he felt Mycroft's hand spreading his cheeks and his fingers prying his opened. He clenched when he felt him slip one in.

"Relax," Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock frowned, but tried to do what he was told. He saw Mycroft open the drawer next to the bed and pull something out. When he felt Mycroft's finger again, it was wet. It slid in a little easier, but it still felt very strange to him. He wasn't getting what all the fuss was about.

After a few moments, Mycroft was able to slide his finger most of the way in. He had poured on generous amounts of lube and now gently moved his finger in and out.

"Mycroft, I'm not sure-" Sherlock winced.

"It's alright. Just breathe and relax. Don't fight it." He quickly pushed his finger in as far as it would go and held it there, making circular movements. He heard Sherlock gasp and felt him push back to meet him. "That's it."

Sherlock felt an involuntary moan escape his throat as Mycroft pulled his finger back and began thrusting it in and out. Life before, desire began to pump through his brain. He moved his hips back and forth, keeping up with Mycroft's rhythm, then let out a groan as Mycroft worked another finger in.

A few minutes later, he was breathing hard when he felt Mycroft slip his fingers back out. He turned to look at him, slathering his cock with lube. It looked enormous to him now, which both enticed and frightened him. He turned back over and Mycroft settled on top of him.

Slowly Mycroft guided himself to Sherlock's now relaxed opening. He pried it with his fingers and then slipped the tip of his cock inside. He heard Sherlock grunt and licked the back of his neck. Then he reached underneath Sherlock's belly and gently tugged his cock.

Sherlock moaned and his muscles relaxed even further. He felt Mycroft slip inside and cried out. Then gently, he felt Mycroft thrusting back and forth. He felt both pressure and pleasure and the mixture of sensations excited him further. He lifted his hips and pushed back as hard as he could so that Mycroft slipped his full length inside, causing them both to cry out.

Mycroft's breath was coming in quick gasps in Sherlock's hair. He tightened his grip around Sherlock's shoulders and began to thrust in and out, harder and harder. He rolled his eyes back and moaned.

"Oh god, Mycroft!" he heard Sherlock groan and felt him lift up on his hands. Sherlock used the extra leverage to thrust his hips up faster and faster until the two of them were bucking wildly.

Then Mycroft lifted up as well, grabbing Sherlock's hips and yanking him back. Their skin made a slapping sound where they met, but they could barely hear it over their own moans and shouts.

Sherlock lowered his upper body back down and then lifted up on his knees to meet Mycroft who started pulling him back harder and faster. Sweat covered their bodies and dripped off their noses. Mycroft's fingernails dug greedily into Sherlock's hips. Sherlock spread his legs and shoved himself backwards as Mycroft pounded him.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock let out a strangled yell. "Something's...I can't..."

With that, he felt Mycroft's warm, wet come exploding in to him. Mycroft screamed his name and almost collapsed, but he kept pumping. He grabbed Sherlock's cock again and within moments felt his hand slick with Sherlock's come. He thrust a few more times, as deep as he could and he heard Sherlock cry out over and over.

Sherlock took a deep breath and rolled over towards John. "I wanted him to teach me. I asked him to do it."

"Did he hurt you?" John asked.

"No. Mycroft was very patient and gentle. I think that's what disturbed me."

"You enjoyed it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and blinked. Then he said, "Immensely. It's one of the reasons I was never with anyone else, never tried. That and general disinterest. I was afraid no one would live up to him, both mentally and physically. And that just disturbed me even more."

John shook his head and got up, leaving Sherlock to watch him nervously. "Do you still...want to be with him?"

Sherlock teared up and shook his head.

"You went, what, eighteen years without having sex?" John said harshly.

Sherlock nodded. "Why are you so angry, John?"

John laughed mirthlessly. "I'm trying to find out if you're in love with your brother."

"What do you mean? We don't even get on."

"Is this why?"

Sherlock frowned and quietly answered, "No." He waited a moment while John paced. Then he said, "I was afraid he would overshadow things, that I'd never be able to care as much about someone or get close to someone else." John nodded, but Sherlock knew he didn't understand. He desperately wanted him to understand. Through his tears he said, "Don't you see, John? I found you. I let all of that go because I wanted to be with you. I knew that I cared more about you, that...everything would be better. You were better for me, a better person, everything. Don't you understand how important you are?"

John stood there in shock and then turned back and took Sherlock in his arms. They both started sobbing. "It's alright," he said. "I don't care who you've had sex with, Sherlock. I just feel better knowing it was a good experience. When they brought you in I was afraid..."

"I know. I'm sorry I caused such a fuss. I didn't know what you'd think of me."

They heard the door open and then Mycroft saying, "I can come back later."

John turned and looked at him, not sure how to feel. "No," he said. "You two should talk."

"John-" Sherlock started to protest, but John shook his head and walked toward the door.

Mycroft gave him a curious look as he brushed passed and then his face fell in comprehension. He turned to Sherlock and said, "You told him, didn't you?"

"I should have told him a long time ago," he answered with a glare.

Mycroft was stunned and as close to panic as Sherlock had ever seen him. He watched his brother sit down next to the bed, concern and pain in his eyes and his face softened a bit.

"Is that what this was all about?" Mycroft asked. "Is that the reason you never..."

Sherlock turned away, not sure what to say so he just nodded.

"My god, Sherlock. I didn't hurt you. I never forced you."

Sherlock's head whipped back. "I know that."

"Is that why you hate me?" Mycroft asked quietly.

A lump formed in Sherlock's throat, but he managed to squeeze out, "I never hated you Mycroft. It had nothing to do with this. I resented you because you wouldn't stand up for me when-"

Mycroft suddenly grabbed his brother by the neck and said, "I did that to protect you!"

Sherlock stared at him wide-eyed and then whispered, "You were afraid it would happen again."

"Do you remember that night?"

"Vividly."

Mycroft let go and stood up, rubbing his brow and pacing. "Well, all the evidence would suggest that you enjoyed it as much as I did then."

"Yes, but the circumstances...and we were drunk."

"Not that drunk." The two of them were quiet for a moment and then Mycroft added, "I didn't want to risk it. But this isn't what I'd planned either. When that whole family business came up...I had no idea you would take it so far, that we would lose everything. I never would have sided with mum and dad if I had known how it would end."

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. The whole thing was turning in to a much bigger emotional mess than he liked to deal with. "Perhaps I've...held on to the grudge too long. I didn't realise...that your motives were..." Suddenly he found that he couldn't say anything else. Tears streamed down his cheeks and sobs racked him so hard that he thought he might throw up.

Mycroft quickly sat down. Unlike Sherlock, he felt like laughing. He tried to put an arm around his little brother, but he shook his head and pushed him away.

Sherlock took a strangled breath and squeaked out, "I'm sorry."

"Oh don't be silly. I'm just as much to blame."

Sherlock managed a weak smile and finally let Mycroft hug him. He stayed there a long time, taking in the familiar scent, familiar feeling of his brother's arms; the only person he'd ever trusted before John and the one who'd hurt him the most.

A couple of days later, the doctor decided that Sherlock was well enough to go home as long as he took it easy and John made sure he didn't get up to anything he shouldn't. The nurses were more than happy to see him go. The Grief Counselor had even got him to agree to some family therapy with Mycroft, though John very much doubted they'd ever actually go.

The three of them had shared an awkward, but peaceful dinner in Sherlock's room the night the confession had been made. As they left the hospital, Mycroft showed up to see them home. A bit of the old banter returned between the brothers, but the three of them set a standing date for tea every Saturday afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I was finally coaxed into writing a Holmescest. It's probably not what some poeple were expecting, but that is because Johnlock still and forever will be my ship. But I thought this was a plausible idea of what could have happened between Sherlock and Mycroft.


End file.
